Dream House
by Saturdaychick
Summary: In which Erik contemplates the past and considers the future.


**Dream House**

Erik stepped back, arms crossed and admired his handiwork. The workmen were gone, and he was finally alone. With the Opera House and all the grand palaces and other buildings he had designed and directed to completion, buildings that would stand through the years as gems of architecture… this, this is the only edifice he had ever created that contained his heart and soul.  
It was a small, but stately and beautiful house. He stepped inside and wandered the new rooms.  
It was made of brick and wood painted white but glowed with an almost ethereal light. The whole of the house featured windows with views from every angle. There was a music room, a library, a modern kitchen and bathroom, a lovely dining room, and… a master bedroom so large and airy that it almost seemed as if it were outdoors. It was painted delicate pale lavender and papered in a light lavender and green floral paper. The bed was enormous. He had built it himself of wood and metal and painted it white with green and lavender vines and flowers carved into the headboard. This room had French doors that opened onto a veranda where he and Christine could breakfast or enjoy a glass of wine in the evening.  
There was another, smaller room that opened off the master bedroom through a connecting door. This was to be Christine's dressing room. He had built her a large dresser and had also designed a huge mirror, a sort of sentimental gift based on their early relationship, though, this mirror, a twin to the one in her old dressing room in every way, was strictly one way. He'd been tempted to add a secret two way mirror, just for the fun of it, but thought better of it at the last minute. He could imagine Christine trying on her outfits in front it and it gave him great pleasure knowing how much she'd enjoy it.

There were several additional rooms. One was for Raphael. Erik knew the boy would be delighted with it. One of the walls of this bedroom Erik had covered with painted stars and constellations. Against this, he had set Rafe's bed, one he'd made himself of wood and painted a pale blue, making it seem as if it was something washed up by the sea. He wanted Rafe to have only good dreams. He knew the boy, now somewhere around 11 years old (his exact birth date was a mystery to him), often had bad dreams in which he was back in the gypsy camp where he had been beaten and tormented by his, then, master. Whenever Erik thought of this he could feel himself seethe with anger. But he had taken care of that situation. No other boy would ever suffer from beatings by those particular hands.

The more he thought about Rafe, the more he wanted to give him the life he had never known as a child. He too had suffered from the brutality of his gypsy master. Far worse than Rafe, for Rafe, at least was never kept in a cage and made to perform. And Rafe was… beautiful. A very handsome boy who would one day turn heads. Erik smiled to himself at this thought. He smiled even more at the thought that he, even he, had turned a head. He had to admit it took some doing… but Christine had made her choice and that choice was Erik. She had proven her love over and over and now that they were wed, he considered himself the luckiest man on earth… or in heaven, for he had truly married an angel.

There was one more room. It was painted white, a soft, dreamy white and hung with gauzy white curtains and contained a large, soft, rose colored armchair. For now, it could be a place for any of them to sit and read… but, someday, perhaps, Raphael might get that little brother or sister he often dreamed of. Someday. But for now, Erik was content in a way he never expected to be.

He heard a small meow and turned to find that his cat, Shadow, had followed him into this room. She sat looking up at him. He bent and scooped her up into his arms. "You were my first, ma petite" he purred back at her. "You kept me company when I was truly alone. You will always have a special place in my heart because you never judged me. You just accepted me for what and who I was." He stroked her and she purred. She tolerated Christine and Raphael… but Erik was the only one she cared for with all her feline heart. She was his cat phantom who trailed his comings and goings in the Opera House and had her own solitary pathways that even the Opera Ghost could not follow. She missed the dark, endless night of the Opera House cellars, but, here, on the 8 acres of woods and gardens that surrounded the new house, there were mice and voles and other small creatures to stalk and terrorize. Erik might have domesticated her… but she could never really be tamed.

Stroking shadow, he turned and made his way back outside. His carriage was ready and waiting. The matching white horses gleamed in their traces. Erik nodded to his driver, opened the door and set Shadow on the seat where she immediately curled up. He climbed in beside her. They were going back to the dark sanctuary of the 5th cellar of the Opera House for tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, they would dine and laugh and sing and wake the next morning to the light.


End file.
